


Unsanctioned Cookies

by Inksinger



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Taretha the cookie fairy, Unsanctioned cookies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 08:55:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17159018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inksinger/pseuds/Inksinger
Summary: Thrall returns from a grueling day in Blackmoore's arena to discover someone has left him a treat. Written for the Warcraft Hell 2018 Secret Santa event, for Barachiel.





	Unsanctioned Cookies

It was dark when Thrall was allowed to return to his meager quarters within the keep, healed and fed on a good, hot meal that had been sorely welcomed after his handful of battles. He had once again enjoyed an unbroken series of victories in Blackmoore’s arena, and with the light leaving for the day, there was no real need for Thrall to remain out and around - and he had to admit, he was looking forward to a bit of rest.

But all thought of weariness or well-earned rest vanished as he sat down on the edge of his cot, chased away by a warm, sweet scent that was entirely out of place in his quarters.

Thrall frowned and looked about until his eyes found a small parcel, wrapped in a bit of paper and left on the flat pillow that adorned his cot. Curious, he cautiously picked up the little package and unwrapped it, revealing a single, still-warm cookie, dotted with bits of chocolate and dwarfed by the size of his hand when he picked it up - large for a human, perhaps, but humans tended to be smaller than he was, as well.

There was no note with the cookie, though he thought perhaps one might have been written on the paper wrapped so carefully about it. But the paper was blank, and slightly greased from the pastry, and so Thrall was left to wonder at the oddity of the parcel and its presence in his room.

Had it been a gift from Blackmoore - a token of his approval, his appreciation for Thrall's performance in the ring today? But Blackmoore wasn't one for such… sentimental displays. If he had chosen to make his approval known, he had already done so by sending a healer to tend to Thrall's wounds and hot food to fill the orc's belly. If the master of Durnholde had more in store for his champion, surely he would have waited to do so when next he approached Thrall.

Even then, cookies were not something Thrall could imagine his master giving to him. They were sugary treats that Thrall had only been allowed exceedingly rarely as a small child, and which he had been weaned from altogether shortly after Sergeant had begun to teach him the art of combat.

And yet, here was one now - and nearly as swiftly as the possibility that it was poisoned entered his mind, Thrall banished it as a foolish notion, bordering on the paranoid. No one could breach Durnholde's defenses, let alone slip about undetected by the soldiers guarding it long enough to locate Thrall's little quarters and leave poison in their wake. It also wasn't like Blackmoore to test Thrall in such a manner - though, if he was wrong and it _was_ a test, surely the poison here would be mild enough to punish Thrall, but not cripple or kill him.

Then again, there was no unusual odor about the cookie. And surely, a small bite wouldn't hurt - just a chunk, just large enough to be sure whether or not it was safe. There was more than one way to pass a test like this, after all.

Hesitantly, Thrall broke off a piece of the cookie and placed it in his mouth. He halfway expected there to be some sudden sting when he bit down, or perhaps an entirely unpleasant aftertaste when he swallowed… but nothing happened. Instead he was treated to a warm, buttery, chocolatey bite that went down without incident.

Still, he couldn't allow himself to assume that the treat hadn't been laced with something. Not all substances had their own scent or flavor, particularly when baked into foodstuff - and it had been long enough since he'd last been given such a sugary treat that Thrall couldn't safely trust his own memory to be able to tell him if there _was_ anything off about the cookie, besides. Better to wait and see if the bite he had taken would have any adverse effects on his health.

He wrapped what remained of the cookie back into the bit of parchment it had been left in, and - acting on a sudden notion that perhaps Blackmoore wouldn't be pleased to find out about the cookie after all - stowed the parcel under his pillow, intending to wait until morning before he dealt with it one way or the other.

In truth, he only lasted another hour or so. Maybe two, if he was charitable about the estimation. But he could still smell the blasted thing, and the taste of it lingered in his mouth like a pleasant memory, and in the end he found himself giving in to the temptation to devour the rest of it.

Again he waited, though, once the cookie was gone and he was left with just the wrinkled, grease-spotted parchment. He still thought there must surely be _some_ hidden trick to the cookie, some unhappy surprise or another that would make itself known all at once and leave him curled in a pitiful ball on the floor… but once again, there was nothing. No sudden dizziness or drowsiness, no arcing pain through his gut or limbs, no loss of mobility or dexterity…

It was just a cookie.

Someone, somehow, had snuck into his quarters during the day - no, during the afternoon, surely, for it to have still been so warm when he found it - and left a single cookie on his pillow, with no poison in the cookie itself and no note anywhere to be found.

Thrall found himself scowling heavily as he folded the parchment in half, then half again, and again. It would be easier to hide the evidence if he didn't simply wad it into a crumbled ball, and since his unknown benefactor had seen fit to sneak about, it seemed wise to follow their lead. Perhaps he had at least been right in assuming that Blackmoore would not be pleased to know someone had offered his champion an unsanctioned treat.

Thrall knew himself well enough to be sure a cookie would not undo all the years of work and education that Blackmoore had poured into him, and he was grateful to whoever had left this small, secret token for him - enough so that he decided it would be a small matter to hisse the evidence of their kindness, and protect them from Blackmoore's anger.

It was winter, after all, nearing the holiday season. A little charity between friends wouldn't cause any harm.


End file.
